The Unified Universe of the Supernatural
by Fanofallthethings
Summary: Crossover of Supernatural, Wynnona Earp, and the Dresden Files. The books, not the shitty TV show. Anyways, when three universes get smashed together, Chuck pulls a soul from our world to fix things. Enjoy!


**A/N: Hey y'all. College is fucking busy, unsurprisingly, but I'm trying to make some more time to write. Anyways. I still haven't resolved the moderator issue to my satisfaction, so I'm working on ideas that have been rattling around my head for a while hoping it'll spark an idea. Also, I haven't finished S14 of SPN yet, so just gonna ignore that for the moment. Enjoy!**

**Chapter One - Chuck, You Motherfucker**

I was fairly certain that I was dead. Course, that idea was offset by the fact that I was sitting in a pretty nice bar, and apparently alive enough to enjoy the beer that had been sitting in front of me when I sat down. The bar was empty other than myself. The bar was a nice wood, unmarked by use. Stools lined it, and the opposite wall contained the booth where I sat, along with several more. A small stage with an amp, guitar, and some other musical equipment was at one end of the room. The only thing missing was a door. That would have bothered me more, but like I said I was pretty sure I was dead. Getting shot in the head by a jihadi motherfucker in Kabul will do that to you.

When I first woke up in the bar, it took me a few seconds to stop hyperventilating. Let's just say there's a reason a bullet to the head kills you a lot of the time even if it doesn't destroy everything vital. It fucking _hurt_. Like, send you into shock and cardiac arrest kind of pain. Once I had caught my breath, I had taken note of my surroundings, discovering the bar just as I described it. Once I had my surroundings noted, I turned my attention inwards. I was me. Same scars, same markings, same clothes I wore off-duty, jeans and a plain, dark T-shirt, along with a pair of olive green Merrel hiking boots. The only thing missing from my ensemble was the pistol and trio of knives I normally kept on my person.

There was obviously nothing I could do in an empty bar with no door and no windows, so I did what any self-respecting American soldier would do if he was stuck in a bar with nothing to do. I poured myself a drink and dropped into a booth. I was halfway through my third stein (which wasn't affecting me _at all_, which was weird since, while I certainly wasn't a lightweight, three fucking steins of beer should _at least _have produced a nice comfortable buzz) when a burst of light came from the end of the room opposite the band stage. When the light faded, there was someone standing there. Someone I recognized. Rob Benedict. Who I recognized because he played… goddamnit. Chuck. Fuckin'... shit.

"Uh, hi there," he said. "Do you know…"

I cut him off. Maybe not the best idea, since if I was right about what was going on he was, y'know, God. "I swear to fucking… if you say your name is Chuck Shirley I'm going to do my damnedest to kill you with my bare hands," I told him.

"Alright, alright," he said, "sensing some unearned hostility here, after all I did save your life."

"Yeah," I said. "Thanks for that. I'll take dying now. It's gotta be better than whatever bullshit going on in this universe."

Chuck winced. "Yeah, wouldn't recommend dying right this moment. Even I'm not sure where you'd end up since your soul is halfway between here and where you came from."

"...Fuck."

"Pretty much. Ready to listen now?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Fuck you," I muttered, then motioned for him to start talking.

"Excellent," he said. "Now. Thanks to being, y'know, omniscient, I know how aware you are of the Winchesters, in addition to some others."

I couldn't resist interrupting again. "Others?"

"Harry Dresden and Wynonna Earp. Now shut up," he continued. "Now, through some fuckup somewhere, the three universes they used to occupy somehow got smashed together, and yours was the first soul from a nearby dimension with the knowledge and an applicable skillset to help things not turn into a total fuckup."

"So what exactly what do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Simple," he said. "I want you to fix everything. You've got weapons skills, hand-to-hand skills, and shit-ton of metaknowledge. Don't worry, I'll saddle you with eidetic memory so you don't forget things. Have fun!"

Chuck snapped, and the bar began to fade around me. "Wait, hang on!" I shouted. "Wait a damn moment, you bastard!" Then the bar was gone, and I was waking up into a brilliantly lit room, screaming bloody murder at a man wearing a blue mask over his face.


End file.
